


An Affront to Clothes in General

by theunbrokencirc



Series: The Life and Times of Inquisitor Amaranta Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Inquisitor & Cullen Friendship, Pairings are kind of in the background, References to The Nutcracker, She just thinks his sense of fashion is awful, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), she loves him i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunbrokencirc/pseuds/theunbrokencirc
Summary: The moment that Inquisitor Trevelyan saw the uniforms Cullen had dreamed up for them to attend the Winter Palace wearing, she knew she had to get rid of them. There would be no compromise.
Relationships: Cole/Original Female Character(s), Cullen Rutherford & Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Iron Bull/Female Trevelyan
Series: The Life and Times of Inquisitor Amaranta Trevelyan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728070
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	An Affront to Clothes in General

It was generally understood by the inhabitants of Thedas that when it came to the subject of taste that Ferelden was not exactly the place in which to find it. They were fierce people, and for that they had Amaranta’s admiration, but she’d seen what passed for fashion in Denerim outside of several select circles. 

Thus it took everything the Lady Inquisitor had not to faint when Cullen proudly displayed the ‘uniform’ that the Inquisition would be wearing at the Winter Palace. Silence reigned in the War Room. Josephine’s lips thinned as her dark eyes trailed over the clashing blue and red, the brown boots. 

Leliana’s brow twitched and she looked as though someone had personally stabbed her. 

_ Maker, he looks so proud of himself. _ Amaranta pressed her lips together as she walked forward to observe the mannequin on which the affront to fashion was being displayed.  _ We are the Inquisition _ , she irritably thought,  _ not a band of Nevarran dandies...no offense to Cassandra.  _

This ‘uniform’ would do little to flatter the Inquisition’s Inner Circle. She could only imagine Solas in this. What of Varric? And Bull? Vivienne would probably rather wear plaideweave in the winter, than this. She had the mannequin brought up to her chambers after the meeting was concluded and continued to stare at it as she was working. Yves had come and gone with a request from the mages, seen the uniform and almost choked herself laughing. The sun made its gallop across the sky, afternoon fading into evening and still she stared at it, picking at all the embellishments even as she’d stripped down to her shift for bed. 

“Kadan, are you going to sleep or continue to mess around with...whatever that is?” Amaranta turned to face Bull: the man had already made himself comfortable in bed, leaning against the sturdy headboard. She clicked her tongue, 

“I’m trying to figure out how we are going to make...whatever this is look good at the Winter Palace.” 

Bull was silent for a good few minutes as he got up with a soft grunt and padded over to stand alongside Amaranta, staring down at the mannequin. 

“This is what we’re supposed to be wearing at the Winter Palace?” 

“Supposedly.” 

He made a noise at the back of his throat that might have been a laugh or another grunt, this time one of disgust, and folded his arms. “Cullen is behind this, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“Fereldans associate brightly-colored clothes with Orlesians. I guess this is the Commander’s rough approximation of Orlesian military fashion.” 

“I can’t let us go to the Winter Palace wearing this.” She covered her mouth, golden eyes fixed upon the inexplicable golden belt, “We’ll be eviscerated before the first dance.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Kadan.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and steered her towards the bed, “Now come on, I’m pretty sure the second watch is going to start soon.” 

* * *

At dawn, she hatched her plan. 

She found Cole where she’d expected to find him, lurking on the battlements near where he’d left spiced wine for the soldiers coming off the third watch. Since becoming more human, he had become easier to detect, but if anyone could get in and out of places (unnoticed), it was Cole. She approached, and he looked her up and down, bluntly saying, 

“They  **are** rather ugly.” 

“Which is why you’re going to help me get rid of them.” Amaranta already knew how she was going to do so. “You  **will** help me get rid of them.” She stepped forward and took Cole by his shoulders, pulling him down towards her, “You  **will** help me get rid of them,  **right** , Cole?”

“Erm…” His pale brows knitted and he blinked those big, baleful blue-gray eyes at her. “Yes?”

“Good.” She cleared her throat, “I need to ask Vivienne to make an appointment with her tailor.” 

“Yves doesn’t like Madame Popincourt very much,” the boy relayed, “She appears to think she’s too finicky.”

“Madame Popincourt is a bitch but she knows what she’s doing.” She then released the spirit-human, “But you have work to do, Cole: Cullen will be down at the camps for at least the next few hours and I am determined to have those uniforms in my possession by evening time.” 

* * *

Cole, as always, delivered. 

By the time Cullen returned, the offensive uniforms were in a pile in Amaranta’s quarters. All of them were different sizes. All of them equally hideous. Now to actually  **dispose** of them in a way that didn’t hurt the Commander’s feelings. 

“So,” Yves quipped, from her place on the chaise. She was sitting with her feet in Cole’s lap, cutting pear slices and passing every third one to the young man. “How exactly are you going to get rid of them without stamping on poor Cullen’s feelings?” 

Amaranta stared at the uniforms, with their bright-blue sashes, golden embroidery and those fucking  **gloves** , Maker, just looking at them infuriated her. Turning to her sister and accomplice, she smirked, 

“There’s only one way to get rid of this affront to clothing.”

She took them to the garden, got some soldiers to bring wood, and set them on fire. 

The Inner Circle came out to see it, with Sera even bringing several sausages to roast over the crackling, popping flames. For once, there was no angry bickering between the opposing members of the Circle, merely a strange sort of solidarity as they watched the worst choice since the Inquisition began go up in flames. Amaranta was just happy to see the offending clothing go up in flames as she’d itched to do from the moment she first saw them in the War Room. Was it cruel, to so callously destroy such hard work?

_ No. No, I have done all of Thedas a service. This is the clothing equivalent of a Blight. No. Maybe not a Blight. I was at the Imperial Court the year that Plaideweave makeup came into fashion. The clothing equivalent of an abomination, much better. _

“Sweet Maker!” Everyone turned to see Cullen standing there, looking out of his depth, dropping a missive that he’d been holding, “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, Cullen. Our handsome, golden boy.” Amaranta got up from where she’d been roasting her own sausage and put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing, “Those uniforms were hideous.”  
  
“Those uniforms? What uniform…” His eyes widened and he stared at the fire. Amongst the charred and burnt logs and branches one could spot little bits of red and blue and gold, the atrocity clinging to the last bits of life it contained. Like a weed that refused to be ripped out of a garden’s soil, the scraps clung onto the last vestiges of life. Even the scent of the dye was offensive, and Amaranta had smelled burning bodies. The former templar’s jaw went slack and he asked, voice low and soft, “Amaranta…are those the uniforms for the Winter Palace?”  
  
“Cullen. Look at me. You have become not just a trusted advisor, but a dear friend. ” She grabbed his jaw with her hand, squeezing gently. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about this. “You are an important part of this Inquisition and we all value your contributions. But not this. This was a war crime. A sin against everything we stand for. Those uniforms were awful. You are an inspiring figure and an excellent strategist whose loyalty is beyond doubt. But I am ashamed that you came up with those. Those colors clash with everyone. **Everyone**. Even you. We would have gotten kicked out of the Winter Palace before we had the chance to so much as pay our courtesies.”

Cullen’s lips twisted, as though he didn’t know what to say to the Inquisitor’s blatant insults and generous compliments. _Have I broken his brain?_ she wondered. No one else in the Inner Circle was helping, not even her advisors. Leliana and Josephine were pointedly ignoring the Inquisitor doing her best to appeal to her Commander’s pride, or what was left of it, given the expression on his face. _Oh Maker, he looks like a kicked puppy._ He opened his mouth once, twice, before sighing deeply. “I thought it’d work with the _Orlesian_ sense of taste. They’re so garish at the best of times.”  
  
“Hah!” Bull crowed from his spot on the other side of the fire, “Told you!”  
  
“Cullen…” She didn’t know what to say to the poor man. Although Marcher by birth she’d spent her formative years in the opulent empire’s borders. Orlesian court taste was not easily explained to one raised outside of the culture. Instead of launching into a nonsensical explanation about brocades and silks and fabrics and colors, she patted him on the back, “We’ll find something that works for you. I promise. Vivienne should be able to hold Madame Popincourt from making you **too** Orlesian looking.”  
  
“I’m not wearing ruffles,” Cullen sighed resignedly after several moments, “I hope you know that.” Amaranta smiled at him, glad that it hadn’t led to a fight of some sort. She slipped her arm through his and took him over to where she had a chessboard set up just in case things didn’t go too well: perhaps winning a round of chess against her would improve his mood.  
  
“Oh, Cullen…” Amaranta smiled innocently at him, “Your hair doesn’t go with ruffles. It’s too wavy. You’d look like a lap dog. **Leather** , however…”   
  
The expression on Cullen’s face would make Amaranta laugh for days. 

**Author's Note:**

> In the DAO OC Emporium Discord, someone mentioned the terrible nutcracker uniforms we got in DAI. I know my Inquisitor would have never agreed to wear such things, so I decided to write a short, humorous bit about her quest to get rid of them. 
> 
> Come scream at me about Dragon Age or BNHA or Bioware in general at [@TheUnbrokenCircle](https://twitter.com/theunbrokencirc).


End file.
